


Burrowing Robins

by Calamityjim



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Buried Alive, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs Help, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamityjim/pseuds/Calamityjim
Summary: Revenge is a double sided blade and even the whispers of the Lazarus Pit can't stop it from cutting Jason.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 371
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	Burrowing Robins

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Buried Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299959) by [SalParadiseLost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalParadiseLost/pseuds/SalParadiseLost). 



> Since we are all doing buried alive fics, here is mine.

It was Talia’s whispers in his ear and the green in his eyes that guided his hand. That’s what he would tell himself, later, on nights where he was his own greatest nightmare. 

Getting into the tower was easy. No one took precautions against the dead.  
  


Knocking out the Titans was easy. No one was on guard in their own base. 

Grabbing the kid was easy. No way some shrimp with half of the Red Hood’s experience was going to beat him.

  
  
Burying the Replacement was….hard. 

Jason still did it. 

X-x-x-x-x-x

Tim woke up the way he’d been trained. Instantly alert but as still as the dead as he took stock of his situation. It took a few moments for the memories to come and, along with them, the pain. Nothing was broken, thank god. Despite the sadism Tim had read about in the Red Hood’s file, pain hadn’t seemed to be his game plan. He’d been quick and efficient in his take-down of Tim. Nerve strikes with a speed that shouldn’t be possible from someone so bulky and a well placed taser and Tim’s memory cut out. 

He’d obviously been taken. But why? Well, the Red Hood _was_ erratic. The duffle bag of heads had been a tip off, but the fact that he’d also cut off the… well… _parts_ of guys who hassled the sex workers of Gotham, and that he’d take out his own gang members if he caught them roughing up kids, showed that the Red Hood had some sort of code. Which didn’t explain why he’d snatched Robin because Tim had never given flack to a working girl in his life. They’d always been so sweet to him when he was chasing Batman and Robin with his camera. 

They’d given him hugs. 

In exchange he tried to monitor Crime Alley as best he could. He wasn’t great at it yet. Still too small and not trained enough, he couldn’t put the fear in criminals there the way Jason had been able to but that wasn’t going to stop Tim from learning. He’d never be Jason good. He’d never be Bruce’s son or a real Robin, but he did want to hold up the legacy to the best of his ability. To not bring shame to the costume.  
  


Which was why he was going to figure out what was going on.

The first thing he noted was the complete and utter silence. No sounds of the city. No sounds of the country. Not even the hum of electronics that was found in the Batcave. Just Tim and his own breath, his own heartbeat, both of which sounded too close. Tim catalogued that thought and pushed it away. 

Next was his body. His hands were crossed over his chest and he was laying down on his back on something soft, his legs straight. 

He was cold.  
  


He wasn’t in his suit. He was barely in anything at all. Just boxers. Unnerving, but not horrifying. For all that he was, the Red Hood wasn’t a pervert. It was problically a practical gesture on his part, a way to ensure that Tim had no gadgets. Points to the Red Hood because Tim definitely had lockpicks sown into the seam of the shirt he was no longer wearing. 

Then it hit Tim. 

  
He wasn’t _wearing his mask._

No. _No no no no no._ Tim brought a hand to his cheeks, feeling for the kevlar and there was nothing but clammy skin. The Red Hood had his identity. He knew Tim’s _face_. 

Tim threw his eyes open in shock. They opened to _total_ darkness. 

And Tim knew he wasn’t blindfolded. 

“Hello?” he whispered. It sounded wrong. This space sounded _wrong._

  
Tim took a deep breath and held it. He slowly lifted a hand to try and get the dimensions of the space he was in. His arm stopped before it was anywhere near fully stretched, his fingers touching the same soft material he was lying on. 

  
Satin. 

Tim took another deep breath. 

He knocked on the roof of his _don’t think about it_ and the sound was muted, absorbed. With a deep breath Tim pushed. Hard. He pushed until his arms _burned_ under the strain, until his breathing was heavy and panted. ANd when he was done he took a gasping breath and did it again, his brain shying away from what he had already pieced together. 

The lid didn’t move.

He didn’t need to, but Tim spread out his legs to get an idea of width, his limbs sliding easily over the satin until they came across padded walls, once again far too soon for Tim’s sanity. 

He was in a coffin. 

  
He’d been buried alive. 

“Oh,” he said softly. “I’m going to die.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jason’s vision flared emerald at the little bastard’s statement. _I’m going to die._

Yeah, the kid was, but that was beside the point. Jason had been buried alive, well, buried dead and then alive and he had _crawled_ his way fucking out. He hadn’t just accepted that he was going to go again, hadn’t lain there like a fucking damsel, waiting for a rescue that would never come. 

  
No, he’d gotten himself out.

And here was Replacement, leaning back and just fucking taking it. 

_Fight! Fight! Survive! Punch, hit claw live!_

Jason hissed even as he fiddled with the volume of the microphone in the coffin he’d put the Replacement in. If the kid was going to spend the entire time whispering, even if it was stupid defeatist statements that proved how fucking unfit the little prick was, Jason was going to hear it. He was going to hear every word that was said in that coffin.

It was a nice coffin, too. Bruce could probably reuse it when he found the kid’s body. 

  
Let no one say that Jason wasn’t generous. 

_He needs to suffer_ , Talia had said, showing him pictures of a rat in his colors. _You weren’t even cold yet._

His vision flared green. He’d wanted the Replacement to scream, wanted him to sob when he realized what had happened to him. It was why Jason had bothered with the microphone and night vision camera.  
  


He wanted to see the Replacement _suffer._ Because that’s what happened to Robins. They broke their wings and fell from the sky. It was time to teach Bruce that he didn’t collect children, he collected corpses. 

_He was cold. Buried. Wood and dirt and mud and death. Roots wrapped around his fingers as he pulled and pulled and breathed._

Maybe the Replacement would start to panic later. Maybe when he could feel the air thin, when he started breathing in gasps.  
  


Of course, Jason wasn’t going to make it that easy. He had oxygen wired up, down by the Replacement’s feet, and just when the kid thought he was going to die he was gonna find himself with a few more hours. 

Green coiled around the edges of his vision. He was going to make this _last_ for as long as it needed to until Replacement was _screaming_ , until Jason was fucking satisfied. He was going to teach the kid exactly what had happened to his predecessor. This was going to take as long as it needed until Jason’s screams of people buried alive were pleasant dreams and not nightmares.

_He screamed in the warehouse. He screamed into the rain. He screamed into the pit of acid stitching his brain together._

And when it was done. When it was finally over and Replacement had cooled off, Jason would send the tape to Bruce. Maybe with a shovel and a map.

His vision simmered in a poisonous color. 

Maybe not. 

Sometimes the best thing in life was a little mystery. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The first little bit hadn’t been bad. Tim had been warm and, for the most part, comfortable. The cushions at his back were surprisingly plush, he was relaxed, and everything had felt just so deliciously far away. The idea of death was something that he was drifting towards, pulled by the endless river of time and his coffin was just the boat to take him there. 

  
Acceptance was easy. 

But then he started to grow cold. And as he grew cold he remembered he had a body. It was heavy and stiff and it was his and he wanted it to live. He needed it to live. 

Batman needed him to live. 

“Shit,” Tim gasped as his mind slipped out of its dissociative state and he didn’t know whether he should be grateful that his brain had kicked in with survival instincts or pissed that he was going to have to endure this with sparkling clarity. 

Already his mind was churning out useless data. The size of his coffin, the amount of air it would have had with Tim displacing it, the totally unknown variable of how much time he’d been down here.

Too long.

“No one is going to find you, Robin,” he whispered furiously at himself. It was easier to talk to himself. It had always been easier to talk to himself. He’d always been alone, had always been too loud for his parents, but sometimes he’d needed to hear someone and he was always around himself. Except when he was floating but Tim was pretty sure he was done floating for the day.

Done floating for the rest of his life. 

“Shh,” he told his brain. “Don’t think like that.”

He was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. The Red Hood either was aware of how many trackers Batman kept on his Robins or he was simply paranoid, but either way Bruce wasn’t going to find Tim by simply using trackers. “No one is going to find you, so man up and get out.” And he had to get out. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been trapped. The first time had been a dumpster. Tim had clambored in to hide from thugs who were after his camera, but he hadn’t been tall enough to get back out. Robin had found him, had lifted him out by the scruff of his neck, called him an idiot, and given him money for a cab.

Jason had saved Tim so it was up to Tim to honor that.

“Batman needs a Robin,” Tim muttered, reminding him what was at stake. “Gotham needs a Batman.” 

So he had to get out for the sake of Bruce, to make sure that the man didn’t descend into the creature he’d been after Jason’s death. It was Tim’s job to keep Bruce on track, Robin’s job to guide Batman towards the light. 

“Think of a plan,” Tim muttered. “What would Jason do?” What _would_ Jason do? 

  
Jason was an absolute badass. He’d have gotten himself out of the box. 

  
So that’s what Tim was going to have to do. 

X-x-x-x-x-x

Jason raised an eyebrow when Replacement had said his name. Now what did the little bastard think Jason would do, hmm?

The kid pulled back one of his scrawny little arms and slammed his fist into the lid. 

Well….that’s exactly what Jason _had_ done. 

_Dirt had spilled around him as the wood had cracked but he’d needed out Out OUT. It trickled down his face, becoming mud on his cheeks as more rushed down, splinters biting his hands as he frantically scrambled up. He needed up. He needed air!_

Jason’s breath was coming in shallow gasps, the taste of mud in his mouth. No. He wasn’t there. He’d crawled his way out because Bruce had buried him. He focused on that thought. Bruce had _buried_ Jason in a stupid pine box. 

Replacement screamed as something in his hand broke.

Jason had buried Replacement in a hickory one.

And the feeling in his gut as the kid clutched his hand close to his chest, as he bit down on muffled sobs, was satisfaction, right? 

This was _necessary._

To teach Replacement. 

To teach Bruce. 

He _was_ doing the _right_ thing _!_

_Dad! Save me, Dad! FIND ME!_

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim’s brain, Tim’s stupid brain, wouldn’t turn off. It wouldn’t go away and let him be. “Shut up,” he said. “Shut up shut up SHUT UP!” he screamed at it. He didn’t want the clarity. He wanted to disassociate again, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to be safe. 

He wasn’t going to get any of those things.  
  


“I know that!” Tim told himself harshly.

They weren’t going to find him. “I know they won’t! I know they _aren’t_ coming!”

He was a failure as a Robin. “I _fucking know_!” That was something he’d always known. He felt the tears slide down his face, their warmth painful against his cold skin as he choked on sobs. 

He tried to take a breath to relax, to get a hold of himself. 

He choked. 

Oh. 

It wasn’t his sobs that were making his breath hitch. 

He was suffocating. 

He’d run out of time. 

It was worse than he’d imagined, his lungs still drawing in air but burning as though he hadn’t, his head spinning as his arms grew numb from something other than the cold. His fingers tingled and burned. His tongue felt huge, like it was swelling in his mouth and his throat scratched against nothing. 

It was taking longer than he’d expected. Too long. 

Infinitely long. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim stuttered out with his failing breaths as darkness closed around his vision. “Sorry, Jason,” he gasped out. “Broke my promise,” he heaved. “Didn’t stay safe.”

  
The end was coming now.

“Jason…” he slurred.

His vision finally went black.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Gasping as smoke filled his lungs. Pain and smoke and fire and he was dying and Bruce help him! Bruce was coming! Dad! Make it!_

“Oh, shit!” Jason hit the command to release the oxygen. He watched closely as the Replacement’s chest rose higher as his breathing deepened. 

“The fuck?” What the ever loving fuck. The kid’s last words were to a goddamn dead kid? 

Jason leaned back, placing his hand in his hair. This was not going as planned. This was not going as planned at all. Replacement was a spoiled Bristol brat who had _stolen_ Jason’s place, had stolen Jason’s life. Not this, this, kid who was gasping out Jason’s name. Like, who the fuck even does that?

_Dad!_

  
Jason died. He’d failed. He’d gone to Ethiopia and he’d gotten himself killed and the only person who had given a shit about him after had been Talia. She found him. Not Batman. Not Bruce. She’d taken care of him and healed him and had trained him so he could come to Gotham and get the revenge he needed, the revenge Batman had failed to provide when he’d let the Joker run free again, when he’d put some other kid in a cape with the promise of justice and adventure. 

Talia had told him about the Replacement. She’d shown him the pictures of the kid’s arrogant smirk, the footage of him at Batman’s side like the perfect shadow. He was a bastard and Jason hated him. Needed to hate him. 

On his screen, in the coffin, a child took shallow breaths.

_He laid in a coffin and took shallow breaths._

Fuck. 

He needed outta here. Couldn’t go as the Red Hood and shoot some rapists. Batman would be looking for him in every shadow. But he wouldn’t be looking for Peter Willis, average Crime Alley citizen on his way to buy a pack of smokes. 

Yeah. That would work. He could really use a cigarette.

The oxygen would keep the kid alive until Jason got back and could deal with this shit. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim woke up.

Huh.

It looked like this really was about sadism. 

He stuffed his non-broken hand in his mouth and bit down hard enough for his mouth to be flooded with the taste of copper.

It was either that or scream. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jason had torn open the pack and had started on his first cigarette before he was even out of the store. He had it down to the filter less than a block later. “Fuck,” he tossed it to the pavement, grinding it with his boot even as he fished another one out.

“Stressed?” A woman stepped out of the shadows, high boots, higher skirt, and a shirt that revealed more than it left to the imagination. “I think I can help with that.” She went by Chastity, said the johns got a kick out of it, but her real name was Rose. She had been working the streets for a few months but the other girls knew she had an eye for trouble, and if Chastity said stay away it meant that it was the best to stay the fuck away from whoever had pulled up. She didn’t ever need the Red Hood’s help but she was great for information. 

Jason didn’t know what it said about him that he’d been pegged as safe. “You really can’t.” He lit the cigarette in his hand and made a mental note to watch Rose a little closer if she thought he was a good idea. Especially right now, when he was in the middle of ~~murdering~~ getting _revenge_ on Robin.

She stepped closer, into his space, and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, She took a long drag before offering it back. “Keep it,” Jason said. 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. You seriously not buying?”

“Nah,” Jason shook his head. “Not my thing.”  
  


Rose’s shoulders slumped. “Fuck,” she complained. “No one is tonight. Batman’s on a goddamn warpath and he’s chased away all my regulars. It’ll be weeks before all of ‘em come back.”

  
“Fucking Batman.”

Rose nodded. “Yeah, fucking Batman.” She took another drag of the cigarette. “Hope Robin’s okay though.”

Jason felt green pulse through his veins. “Yeah?” he asked, careful not to grit his teeth. 

Rose looked him up and down. “Kid used to come down, after the old one stopped. Let us know what happened to ‘im, let us pay our respects and all that. He tried to take care of us. Didn’t know fuck all what he was doing but he didn’t make shit worse.” She tapped ash off of the cigarette. “We told ‘im to stop. Sweetheart like ‘im didn’t need to be wandering Crime Alley.” She met Jason’s stare, her eyes piercing. “Said Robin once saved his life. Pulled ‘im out of a dumpster, so it was up to ‘im to keep Robin’s memory safe.” She let out a dry chuckle. “Guess he considers us part of that.”

Fucking _hell._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The coffin had taken on an almost electric smell. Ozone. Oxygen. There was a source from somewhere. Had it been triggered by carbon dioxide levels or was the Red Hood _watching_ ? How long had it been? How long did Tim actually _have?_

Three days. On the assumption that he was adequately supplied with oxygen he had three days. 

  
Less. Three days from his last sip of fluid, but that had been a few hours before he’d been taken. He’d fought the Red Hood and had lasted long enough to sweat. Even now he was clammy. And he’d cried. He’d cried like an idiot when he had woken up and realized that this wasn’t going to be as simple as suffocating. 

So, less than three days from when he was taken. 

But he didn’t know how long ago he’d been taken. 

Maybe he’d die of hypothermia first. “That won’t be so bad,” he muttered into his hand. He kept it close, in case he needed to scream again, in case he needed to bite again. “You can handle this.” It was an order to himself. He could feel more tears gathering and he wiped them away with his bloodied hand. “Jason handled worse and he didn’t quit, so you don’t get to go out like a baby. You aren’t allowed to be scared.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jason had been terrified. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“He saved you and you’re just wasting that to go die.”  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jason was _murdering_ him.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Jaosn was the best.”  
  
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jason threw up. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

All Tim could do was lay there and tell himself he wasn’t scared and bite his hand when his body tried to make a liar of him. He switched to his wrist after a while, to prevent scarring.  
  


Like he was going to live long enough to scar. 

Talking about Jason morphed into talking to Jason. Maybe Jason’s ghost would help guide Tim’s to wherever ghosts went. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad that Tim failed. Okay, more like maybe he wouldn’t be _that_ mad. 

  
Maybe dying would be okay. 

Maybe he was running out of oxygen again because he could swear he heard scratching, could feel vibrations, and they were getting closer. Hallucinations? Had Jason hallucinated when he was dying? “Not real,” Tim muttered. “Or maybe ghosts need to be dug up?” That would suck. All the people of Pompeii would have been stuck until archeologists found them. 

But the scratching grew louder until it sounded like there were footsteps on Tim’s coffin. “Hello?” he called out tentatively. Then once again with more volume. 

“Hold on, kid.” The buzz of a voice modulator meant only one thing. The Red Hood. But he was digging Tim up?

“Are you digging me up?” Tim couldn’t help but ask.

The footsteps stopped. “No, I’m looking for my cell phone.”

Okay. It had been foolish to hope. But Tim wasn’t the only one foolish in this situation. “How did you manage to drop it while _burying_ someone?” That’s what pockets were for. 

“Jesus fucking christ kid, yes, I am digging you up.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” The Red Hood resumed digging and all Tim could do was listen as shovels of first were scooped out of his grave. Maybe it was a trick. The Red Hood was a sadist and making this a trick would definitely be an act of sadism. 

But it also seems like a lot of effort, especially when he has this coffin thing all ready to go. 

What would Jason do?

Jason would punch the Red Hood the moment the coffin opened. That is what he would do. Tim nodded. He could do that. His right hand was broken but he still had his left and a couple of cuts weren’t going to stop him from throwing a punch. 

He took in a deep breath and tried to relax, tried to prepare himself. 

He winced, squinting his eyes as the lid was cracked and light pierced the absolute dark Tim had been left in. He whined as the coffin was thrown open, completely blinded by the day. Dirt fell across his face, tickling as settled on his cheeks before sliding away as strong arms lifted him out of his grave. 

“I’m sorry,” came the mechanical voice right by his ear. “I’m sorry, Tim. I’m sorry.”

Tim burst into sobs, wrapping his arms tight around the Hood as the man hauled him out of the grave. His armor was warm, heated by the sun, and Tim pressed himself against it like a lizard on his favorite rock. 

“Shh,” the Hood whispered, running his hand through Tim’s hair. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay? We’ll get you a shirt and real pants and something to drink. Doesn’t that sound good.” 

It sounded like a trap but all Tim could do was nod against the armor. This is not what Jason would do. This is not what Jason would do at all but Tim was _exhausted_. So he didn’t fight when the Red Hood dumped Tim in the back of a van, tutting over his hands before tying Tim with a zip tie. He was pathetically grateful when the Red Hood dumped a blanket over him and turned up the heat. For the first time in hours-days?-Tim was able to curl up.

He let himself drift off. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He dumped the kid at the Gotham General. No story. He’d just placed the mostly naked, kinda bruised, and extremely dirty kid on a gurney and let the nursing staff panic. Bruce would hear about it soon enough and the kid would get the medical attention he deserved. 

_You should kill him_ whispered Talia, whispered the green, but jesus fucking christ Replacement was this scrawny child that Jason had tortured. What the fuck? What the everloving fuck? Who did that? 

The _Joker_ did that.

Apparently _Jason_ did that. 

What had he even been thinking?

Had he been thinking? He hadn’t. He hadn’t since coming to Gotham, maybe since coming out of the pit. He’d _tortured_ a kid, _tortured_ Robin. Robin was magic and he’d tried to bury it and bleed that magic out breath by breath. 

He was… he was insane. 

He needed help.  
  


It took him three days to ask for it. Three days to hack comms and apologize, to keep his promise to meet up in person with no weapons. Day four he sat in a cell, clear glass so he could see, with food and oxygen and pillows and blankets.

On day five Bruce pulled him out of the cell and begged for forgiveness while whispering promises that Jason would be okay, that they would make this right. 

It took sixty three days before the green faded from his vision, and ninety two Tim would voluntarily be in the same room with him. It took one hundred and seventy eight before he could meet Tim’s gaze.

He never got over the nightmares. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I meant to mention this earlier so I had to come back and edit this but the title is kind of based on burrowing owls which are native to the country I live in. There are literally owls that dig and live in Burrows. They're really cool. And really tiny. Absolutely adorable


End file.
